


Somewhere I Belong

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Amateur Tattoos, Angst, Bottom Yondu, Branding, But Yondu is Not Much Better, Canonical Child Death, Child Abuse, Cultural Differences, Hate Sex, How They Met, Hraxian Kraglin, Jealousy, Kraglin is a Bad Influence, M/M, Mentions of Past Slavery, Mentions of Underage Prostitution (Nothing Graphic), Sexual Biting, Slightly Manipulative Kraglin, Sorry (not sorry), Top Kraglin, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, breakups and makeups, emotional barriers, kragdu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 03:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Kraglin has never belonged anywhere, and Yondu never wants to belong to anyone ever again. Unfortunately, they severely lack the communication skills needed to navigate their budding relationship.





	1. O-o-h Child

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple oneshot partially inspired by “Good Things Come in Threes” by lazaefair, but then it grew into a five-part story. 
> 
> This fic also features Hraxian Kraglin, originally conceptualized by Write_Like_An_American. When I first started reading GOTG fanfiction, I kept seeing that Kraglin was from Hrax, an extremely polluted planet essentially colonized and ruined beyond repair by the Nova Empire. The details for this race were so consistent across many different stories by many different authors that I just sort of assumed it was Kraglin's canon race. I was floored to find out that Kraglin is actually Xandarian in cinematic canon, and that's how I usually write him, but I still love you, Hraxian Kraglin. So here we are.
> 
> This fic is about 60% written, so I might return to earlier chapters to edit and tweak a little bit.
> 
> All Chapter Titles will be from Awesome Mix Vol 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite ample opportunity, Kraglin is bad at dying. He then meets a homicidal blue asshole and still manages to survive the encounter.

Her name had been Valaria, or at least that’s what Big Daddy called her, the name she went by in the pits of Hrax. She clumsily applied rouge to her cheeks and lips to make herself appear older, but her laugh gave her away; it was much too high and tittering. With a too-skinny frame, mousey-brown hair, and a weak chin, she had never been a great beauty. Really, her big blue eyes rimmed in thick lashes were her best feature. Mama Ona recognized this early and taught her how to flutter them alluringly at prospective customers. Underground on a grimy street corner under a polluted grey-brown atmosphere, the color blue is rare. It made Valaria interesting; her wares marketable. Her prices started at fifteen credits for a suck and hundred for the hour with an extra fifty to go bare, which was really the source of her predicament. She had thought that Big Daddy would beat it out of her when she started to show, but she hadn’t known there was a market for that sort of thing.

Now, she knows better.

The birthing pains started early one night. Huffing and crouched over in pain, Valaria recedes to a spot behind a dumpster in a squalid alley and births a son. Tiny arms stretched up and out for any warm contact, the child is small and red and screaming when she staggers away. She doesn’t look back.

When he is picked up by child services hours later, they don’t think he’ll make it. He’s too young, too weak, too cold. The social worker logs in the foundling as “Obfonteri” named after the street on which he was discovered. Hands hovering over keyboard, almost as an afterthought, she names him “Kraglin” after an unfortunate childhood friend she barely remembers. The child won’t survive, so the luckless origin of his moniker is irrelevant.

Against all odds, he lives. It is the first sign of a rebellious nature.

By the time Kraglin Obfonteri is ten, he’s been through four homes and is back on the streets with a black eye and bruised ribs courtesy of his most recent foster daddy. He’s alone, and he holds his belly in to silence the hunger pangs.

“Hey kid, you lost?”

The other boy is thin and short for his age with mud-brown hair and matching eyes, Hraxian like Kraglin. Swallowed up in filthy layers of tattered, patched and re-patched clothing, he has the wary gaze of a street urchin. By Kraglin’s estimation, he’s just a couple years older than him, barely old enough to be calling him “kid.” Kraglin ignores him. After all, can’t be lost if you don’t got no home.

“Where you get that shiner?” The other boy persists.

“None of your business,” Kraglin replies, a bit too forcefully.

“Okay... Well, if you want, I know a place that’ll feed us.”

Kraglin’s stomach takes the opportunity to loudly gurgle. It has made its decision for him. He doesn’t have many options, so against his better judgement, he follows the other boy.

“The name’s Gaelan.” The other boy says later through a mouthful of stew-soaked bread. They sit in an abandoned factory on the ramshackle side of town among a group of similarly grimy children known as the Lost Boys.

“Kraglin.” 

“Nice ta meetcha, Kraglin.”

The Lost Boys: it’s a racket, a scam. Run by unscrupulous men, they raise armies of small panhandlers, pickpockets, and other petty criminals. It’s a temporary home for Hrax’s many forgotten children until they get too big to be pitied. If a child is lucky, he or she graduates from panhandling to pickpocketing before they remove an important piece, something that will be missed. Disabled children bring in higher revenue, after all.

Kraglin is lucky, or rather, he’s a quick study under Gaelan’s tutelage.

“You have to be lighter,” Gaelan raps the detected hand across the knuckles.

“Well, which is it? Lighter or faster?” Kraglin asks exasperated, rubbing his smarting fingers.

“It’s sort of both. Now try again, Kid.”

“Oi, not that much younger than you,” Kraglin protests.

“Ya are where it counts. Now try again.” Gaelan replaces the practice token and turns away.

Kraglin improves and keeps both eyes and all four limbs. He finds he has an affinity for mechanical devices, liking to take them apart, figure out how they work, and put them back together again. Gaelan teases him about it but quietly seeks out his expertise when the situation calls for it. They move on to bigger, more dangerous jobs.

It’s after a particularly successful heist one night while drunk that Gaelan gives Kraglin his first tattoo, the first link in a chain binding them together. His hand is as unsteady as his judgement, and as a result, the tattoo comes out a boxed swirl with uneven edges. Kraglin bites on a bit of thick worn leather and squints his eyes shut against the repetitive stinging pain of ink etched into skin. Gaelan notices so when he’s done, he slaps the tender flesh and laughs and laughs and laughs when Kraglin yelps and cusses him out. He hands him the shared bottle and tells him to quit being such a baby. When it’s Gaelan’s turn, Kraglin digs in extra deep.

Nothing lasts, and being a cast-off is a hard, unpredictable life. It should really be no surprise when five years later, Gaelan’s gone, but Kraglin’s not. He didn’t go out during the course of a job; He was too careful for that. Rather, there had been an incident between rival mobsters, and he got hit in the crossfire. Wrong place; wrong time.

Kraglin doesn’t know what happened to the body, but he holds a funeral of sorts with an attendance of one. Afterwards, blurry-eyed and drunk on a belly full of rotgut, Kraglin stumbles through the streets in search of a dangerous mark. Gaelan would tell him to sleep it off, to work smart if he wants to live to see tomorrow, but then again, that’s not what Kraglin is after.

The man stands out blue and red against a desaturated background. He’s got the look of an outworlder and the confident swagger of a man who will not be fucked with. Kraglin wobbles right up to him and slouches over to give him a leer.

“Fifty credits, and I’ll show you a good time, Darlin’,” He slurs before swooping in to plant a sloppy kiss on his target, one arm snaking around the blue man’s back and his other hand lightly tracing his crotch before tipping into his pocket to retrieve its contents. Kraglin is reckless and clumsy, drunk on booze and despondency. Gaelan would be dismayed at his shoddy technique.

Blue stiffens in short-lived surprise before he pushes Kraglin back and punches him on the nose. Kraglin barely manages to keep on his feet, but he drops the item he has lifted, a crystal trinket, on the ground. It shatters in the alley. Blue clocks the broken tchotchke and sneers.

“That weren’t smart, boy.”

He punches Kraglin again, splitting the soft flesh above his eye and knocking him to the ground before delivering a sharp kick to his ribs. Kraglin curls into his injuries, wheezing through the pain before sitting up in a futile attempt to get back on his feet. Blue whistles a radioactive arrow inches from Kraglin’s face. However, unlike many of his victims, Kraglin leans into it, choosing to face his death head on. His reaction piques Blue’s interest enough to examine the man’s broken face in the red light of his swirling arrow. He doesn’t like what he sees.

“Fuck, you ain’t nothin’ but a kid.”

“Not a kid,” Kraglin manages from his prone position, coughing against the crush in his chest. He’s nineteen, practically geriatric by street-kid standards.

“Still ain’t interested,” Blue whistles his arrow back with an abrupt staccato and turns to leave. Kraglin staggers to his feet and spits blood red onto the street. He’s not done with him.

“Oi!” Kraglin draws a hidden knife and lunges at the stranger, taking a wide swipe in the other man’s direction. Whether due to alcohol, carelessness, damaged peripheral vision, or a combination of all three, he misses badly, overextending with the force of his swing. Blue grabs his knife hand and the back of his neck and following Kraglin’s momentum, body slams him against a nearby wall. His solid stocky body presses flush against Kraglin’s thin one. Cold bricks chafe his blood-slicked face. Hot breath ghosts Kraglin’s neck, but his warmed skin goose-pimples just the same.

“Ya got guts, boy, but drop the knife. It ain’t fun no more.” Blue twists Kraglin’s knife-hand at the wrist in warning. If he breaks it, Kraglin knows it won’t set right when it heals. He’d be good as dead, but he’ll go slow.

“Good boy,” Blue says when the knife clatters on asphalt. “Now, don’ make me regret this.” He eases up off Kraglin’s back, releasing wrist and neck last.

“Yer lucky yer cute, kid, and I’m feelin’ generous tonight.”

_Cute?_ Kraglin spins around, fist aiming to break that smug face. Blue knocks him out cold.

 

* * *

 

The following day, bruised, hungover, and itchy with crusted blood, Kraglin considers his options. He’s alone again but too old for the Lost Boys, so Kraglin enlists on the first ship leaving Hrax, beating fist against chest to the flame crest of one Captain Yondu Udonta and the Ravagers. He doesn’t recognize the red leathers even as he is issued a set and changes out of his soiled threadbare clothing.

It isn’t until they are already lightyears away on the Eclector that he sees Captain Udonta for the first time and realizes his potentially-fatal mistake.

“The fuck ya doin’ here, kid?”

_Fuck._


	2. Moonage Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin sneaks out on unauthorized shore leave, but he is spotted by the last person he expects to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually explicit material in this chapter.

To Kraglin’s surprise, Captain Udonta doesn’t order him spaced out an airlock. Kraglin likes to think this is due to him being too young and too cute to die in Cap’n’s estimation, but by the second week, the true reason dawns on him: Airlock would have been too fast, and Cap’n wants him to suffer. Cap’n is a petty little shit like that.

“Bog duty, Obfonteri. Level 5 Section 2A,” Graven the foreman says, then whistles low. “That one hasn’ seen the business end of a mop in a month, and last night was Chef’s special chili. Who ya piss off to get that assignment?”

Kraglin doesn’t answer. He just grumbles as he reports to his station and extracts a mop, bucket, and cleaning supplies from a nearby janitorial closet. Hraxians are made of sterner stuff, born to survive even the most toxic of conditions. Still, the stench emanating from the closed door of the bogs on Level 5 Section 2A is foreboding and promises to tax even Kraglin’s steel constitution.

It’s going to be a long life… until Cap’n tires of playing games and decides to shorten it, that is. But really, Kraglin supposes he has had it worse. He gets a warm-ish place to sleep, clothes to wear, and three squares a day. The endless cleaning shifts wouldn’t even be so bad had he gotten his overdue shore leave at any of the various ports through which they have passed. Unfortunately, Cap’n is a spiteful fucker who always deems fit to place him on active duty every single time they dock.

It had been four months since Kraglin last knew the carnal touch of something other than his right hand, and for a young Hraxian just cusping manhood that is quite the dry spell… which is precisely why he had been saving up his meager salary to bribe Graven into switching cleaning shifts with another recruit at the next port. Had the greedy foreman known Kraglin was on Captain Udonta’s shit list, he might not have been so quick to make that deal, but Kraglin keeps mum. The shift is only eight hours out of the twenty-four usually allotted for shore leave, but it should be long enough for a young, somewhat-attractive Hraxian to finally get his dick wet.

True to his word, the foreman ensures Kraglin doesn’t have any duties during second shift the next time the Eclector docks at port. Kraglin strips off his Ravager coat down to his base leathers and “borrows” an oversized civilian jacket once off ship. It wouldn’t do to be recognized, particularly by any vindictive blue assholes with tendencies towards murderous whistling. Because Cap’n left on the first shift with the majority of the rowdy bridge crew heading towards the nearest, most-disreputable brothel, Kraglin avoids establishments swarming with too many red coats. He ends up at a nondescript little dive which caters to his particular tastes.

Kraglin is chatting up an older Luphomoid, sipping at the fourth drink the other man has purchased for him. A calloused blue hand lands firmly on his shoulder.

“Well, ain’t this a cozy picture.” The all-too-familiar gravely timber of that voice is like a red hot arrow to Kraglin’s gut.

_Oh fuck_ , Kraglin thinks as he slowly turns towards the speaker, dread increasing with every inch. His tongue dries to a sandpaper consistency. He hopes he’s mistaken, but he sees blue skin, red implant, and crooked silvered teeth. _Fuck._ However, there’s something odd about Cap’n’s appearance. It takes Kraglin a minute to figure it out, but when he does, he gives him a quick once-over. Whereas Cap’n usually dons his red Ravager leathers with full captain regalia, right now he’s wearing civvies. Moreover, he’s alone, having somehow shaken off the crew he had left with hours ago.

“You. Scram.” He tells Kraglin’s date for the night.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, sweet thing,” The purple man addresses Kraglin.

Kraglin finally finds his voice. “I don’t, but um… you might want’a do what he says,” He finishes weakly.

The Luphomoid tells Yondu, “He says you ain’t his boyfriend, and you obviously ain’t his father neither. We was just having ourselves a nice little chat.” He places a possessive hand on Kraglin’s knee.

Yondu is not used to being disobeyed. He finds he does not like the feeling.

“Don’t make me tell ya a second time to get lost. I’m his boss. He does what I say.” His temper is rising, but his voice stays icy and even. Kraglin’s guts shrivel at the sound.

“Then perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.” The other man’s hand travels higher up Kraglin’s thigh.

Kraglin feels insulted. The man bought him a few drinks, but that didn’t give him the right to barter for his body. Kraglin is no whore, and he’s about to push off the Luphomoid’s hand and cuss him out proper when Cap’n takes matters into his own hands and punches the other man so hard that he falls off his stool.

“What the fuck ya do that for!” Kraglin yells at Cap’n, high on misdirected rage. The other man was his to deal with, not Yondu’s. He can take care of himself, dammit.

“He was pissin’ me off, boy, and if ya don’t want me to knock ya out and drag yer ass back to the ship, then I suggest ya follow orders and come with me.” He roughly lifts Kraglin off his seat by the arm and tries to pull him towards the door. As Yondu turns, a Skrull breaks a wooden stool over his head.

Fuck, the Luphomoid brought friends.

Yondu goes down, almost bringing Kraglin with him, but he sweeps the Skrull’s feet out from under him and delivers a blow to his groin. The Skrull wheezes on the floor. There is no such thing as a dirty move in a bar fight, after all. Yondu stands up on unsteady feet, blue blood streaking down from a cut on the crown of his head. He wipes it off the brow of his eye and faces the small crowd gathering in front of him. Apparently, Luphomoid is a regular with a lot of friends.

“Hey Cap’n, you want to… you know,” Kraglin begins to ask. He wonders what has taken Yondu so long to pull out his trump card. He can have all these assholes on the ground in ten seconds.

“Ain’t got my arrow, boy,” Yondu whispers back.

“What?” Kraglin’s head jerks to look directly at him.

“Left it on the ship.”

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

“Well, Guess we’re doin’ this the old fashioned way,” Yondu says as he slips into a fighting stance. Kraglin gets the feeling he almost enjoys this.

 

* * *

 

After they fight their way outside, the duo head towards the parked M-ships with some of the bar patrons in pursuit.

Kraglin breaks open a side panel on the door of one of the ships. It’s a standard M-ship, nothing fancy. Nothing he hasn’t worked with before. He takes out his knife to carefully cut and splice the wires to bypass the biolock.

Yondu leans over him and punches the inside panel, cracking the biolock chip behind it and pulling out the mess of wire. The door slides open.

“What the fuck ya do that for?” Kraglin asks, exasperated. He had things completely under control before Cap’n decided to go rogue on him.

“You were takin’ too long! Were ya plannin’ on buyin’ it dinner?”

“Well congratulations you asshole! Now we won’t be able to close the door!” Kraglin shouts back.

“We don’t need it to go ta space, idjit. We only need it ta git to the Eclector! Now move!” Yondu says it like he’s talking to a particularly slow-witted child.

Kraglin would concede that Cap’n had a point, but he’s too pissed and too proud to say anything further as they stumble into the ship and Kraglin heads towards the cockpit to hotwire it. Yondu tips over a large table and covers the open door against their assailants.

Kraglin opens the panel under the pilot console and calls out, “Don’t you dare punch through this one, too!”

“Just get it flyin’, Obfonteri!” Yondu orders, pushing the overturned table against the door with his back.

Kraglin quickly cuts and splices the appropriate wires like he’s been doing since he was 13. Once they’re connected, he jumps into the pilot seat and fires up the engines, hovering and taking off at a sharp angle. Leveling off at a cruising altitude, he places it on autopilot aiming towards port and the Eclector. It should be a short journey. Kraglin then sits back and breathes a sigh of relief.

Yondu walks in and smacks him on the back of the head. Kraglin rubs it against the pain but is smart enough not to protest.

“What the fuck, Obfonteri? Ya weren’t even s’posed to be off the Eclector anyway. You desertin’?” Yondu inserts a dangerous undertone to that last question.

“No! I just wanted some time off ship is all. Just wanted to stretch my legs for a couple hours.”

“That weren’t all you were lookin’ to stretch.”

_Pot, meet kettle._ “Well, what about you? Ya weren’t in that bar fer the booze. It tastes like the hooch Horuz brews in his boots.” It’s a risky point to make, but Kraglin is beyond caring.

The M-ship has come to a stop. They aren’t too far from the Eclector.

“You tell anyone about that, an’ I’ll–“

“You’ll what?” Kraglin challenges him.

Yondu punches him then, cracking one of his teeth. Kraglin spits out his mouthful of blood. He’ll worry about that tooth later.

“Ya need another lesson, boy?” Yondu threatens.

The first time they fought, Kraglin had been drunk and unsteady. Now, he’s had three and a half drinks, but that’s barely enough to put him under. His body still thrums from the adrenaline rush of the earlier bar fight, and he’s still slightly pissed he never got so much as a hand job before everything went to hell. He draws his knife and lunges at Yondu.

Later, Kraglin can’t say exactly what had happened. He had charged Yondu, slicing his loose shirt in the process before Cap’n tussled him to the floor, sliding the knife under the pilot’s seat. Yondu had grabbed him by the shirt, so Kraglin had wriggled out of it, tearing Yondu’s already-ripped shirt in the process. Panting hard, they wrestled for dominance, and when Kraglin ended up underneath his Cap’n, he tried to knee him in the groin, but the other man trapped his legs between muscular thighs… Kraglin was helpless. Kraglin was angry.

Kraglin was hard as a rock.

Yondu noticed.

What followed was a fight of a very different sort. Good thing both he and Yondu had planned to get laid that night and had each brought a tube of slick for the occasion. They just never imagined it would have been with each other.

Kraglin blames the four-month dry spell. Cap’n isn’t even his type. He likes older, domineering men; men with a certain air of danger who will let you bend them over, and –

Huh.

Maybe Cap’n is exactly his type.

Kraglin doesn’t have the time or inclination to examine his preferences or life choices right now, not when he has a blue man holding him down and roughly sliding over his dick.

When it is over, Cap’n barely looks at him as he refastens his pants.

“Not a word to anyone, Obfonteri, or I whistle,” He warns, pulling on his boots.

“Yes, sir,” Kraglin says from the ground, still a bit dazed and winded.

“And go and git that tooth fixed.” He says before he puts on Kraglin’s stolen civilian coat over bare chest. He steps over the table that had been blockading the broken door and walks off the crippled M-ship towards the Eclector. He doesn’t look back.

Kraglin turns his head towards the open door, watching Cap’n recede into the distance. He wiggles the broken tooth with his tongue, dislodges it at the root and spits it out.

_That fucking asshole._


	3. I'm Not in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu and Kraglin work out an arrangement. Meanwhile, Kraglin is a bad influence and a terrible babysitter, but unfortunately, he’s the best one on the Eclector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a hermaphroditic squid-like child. The pronouns are zie/zir/zim instead of he/his/him or she/hers/her. I’m sorry if I am using the wrong set, but I’m not used to nonbinary pronouns.

The next day, Kraglin has a new foreman and a new assignment.

“Report to the docks. Yer on training fer M-ship repair,” Horuz tells him.

Kraglin knows last night didn’t mean anything. He supposes it’s purely a practical consideration on Cap’n’s part. Kraglin had proven he’s smart and mechanically-inclined, basically wasted on scrub duty. He didn’t _sleep_ his way to a promotion per se, so there’s really nothing to be ashamed of in particular, but he should probably keep quiet about it just the same. Cap’n was in that bar incognito and alone, sans backup, for a reason after all, and Kraglin is not nearly vain enough to think it was for his benefit. Although not everyone is against the idea of two men fucking (especially among an all-male crew that frequently undergoes long periods of deep space travel), this is a ship full of rather manly men who might think twice about following a captain who not only prefers men but likes to be the receptive sexual partner. He’s not about to out the both of them. Cap’n seems the type to take offense to that, and Kraglin is fond of having his guts stay inside him where they belong.

Kraglin vastly prefers his new job over scrubs. He picks it up quickly and learns not only how to fix M-ships but also how to change out and upgrade parts. His supervisor is a gruff, mostly quiet man who leaves him mostly to his own devices once Kraglin completes training. There isn’t a lot of oversight amongst the Ravagers, and he’s expected to work efficiently and mostly independently.

It’s a routine, and it’s not a bad existence. Really, the only downside is how much of a distraction the captain is becoming. Kraglin doesn’t see him too often, but when he does, memories of their night together come unbidden to the forefront of his mind, and he becomes a bit distracted. His supervisor has cuffed the back of his head more than once for being too slow or for almost dropping some tool on his foot in Cap’n’s presence. The long periods between ports are to blame, or at least that’s what Kraglin tells himself when he jerks off under a cold shower to thoughts of blue skin. It was just a one-time thing that happened because they both had no other options and were too sexually frustrated to be smart.

All that doesn’t mean that when Cap’n comms him for a private meeting late one night, Kraglin isn’t cautiously excited.

The meeting is ostensibly to review the effectiveness of training protocols for new mechanics, so Kraglin comes prepared with a datapad to do just that. What follows is a very different discussion altogether.

“Want to fuck?” Cap’n has always been direct.

“That an order, sir?” Kraglin bristles at the notion of being coerced into a sexual relationship with the Cap’n. Not that he wouldn’t be open to it under normal circumstances, but if it’s an order–

“No. It’s an invitation. Won’t affect yer standing on the Eclector one way or the other.”

“So, if I say no…” Kraglin purposely leaves the implication hanging.

“Ya go back to yer station an’ we never speak o’ this again,” Yondu shrugs, keeping his hands in his pockets. He’s not about to force himself on the man.

Kraglin stares at Cap’n, thinking about it for a good ten seconds. It’s long enough for Yondu to think he will decline. He supposes it was a stupid idea. Why would he ever entertain the notion that he should lower himself to proposition this skinny idiot? Kraglin is all bone with barely any cushioning on him. Yondu is not that desperate between ports, is he?

But then Kraglin starts unbuckling his shirt.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Kraglin is satisfied with his lot in life for the first time in a long time. With his basic needs met, a purpose to get him through the day, and the occasional visit to Cap’n’s quarters to give him something to look forward to at night, Kraglin is comfortable. He supposes he might even be happy.

It all changes with the introduction of one small Xandarian child, commissioned by his daddy to be picked up and delivered to his home planet for an obscene amount of credits.

Children are unheard of on the Eclector. Kraglin doesn’t mind; he prefers it that way actually. Kraglin grew up amongst brats of all ages as a Lost Boy, but now that he is past that stage, children are a hassle he would rather never deal with again. This boy appears to be no different. His first day, Mobius manages to almost bite the fingers off one Ravager when kidnapped. He cries incessantly and has tried to escape multiple times, never managing to shake his handlers but it’s not for lack of effort. Cap’n’s usual methods of dealing with people unsurprisingly do not translate well to children. Kraglin is supremely thankful his job does not bring him into direct contact with the kid.

Yet, when he sees the boy, it stirs something in him. Xandarians are physically very similar to Hraxians, not that Kraglin (as a proud Hraxian) would ever admit it out loud. Mobius is small and skinny with mud-brown hair. From the back, Kraglin almost thinks he’s seeing another child from another time.

“If yer thinkin’ about it, suggest ya hold off ‘til ya find another one next port. That one’s cargo, and we ain’t never delivered damaged goods,“ Naz tells him when he notices Kraglin’s gaze lingering a tad too long on the boy. Naz is another mechanic, a Hraxian like Kraglin. Perhaps that’s why he feels so comfortable divulging such distasteful predilections to him.

Kraglin understands what Naz is insinuating; he understands all too well. The streets of Hrax are a dangerous, desperate place for young children. When he was new, Gaelan would steer him away from certain alleys and certain people, usually well-dressed and maybe-not-so-well-dressed men with a knowing gleam in their eye and a smile that was a bit too wide and showed too much gum above sharp teeth. Gaelan had grabbed his arm and headed the opposite way, moving too fast for it to be a casual walk. The hand tightly clutching Kraglin’s arm had had a slight tremor, and afterwards he laughed a touch too loud. They never talked about it, but sometimes, Gaelan would get a little jumpy around certain smells, usually specific colognes. Then, he’d get a bit quiet and drink a little more than what was wise. Kraglin thankfully had never experienced anything of that sort, but he understood much later what it had all meant.

Previously, Kraglin didn’t really have an opinion of Naz, positive or negative, but now he decides he doesn’t like him.

“Nothin’ like that. Just looks like a kid I used ta know,” He spits out. His nose wrinkles in disgust and he runs his hand through his hair.

Naz looks unfazed and just nods at him, like he’s trying to let Kraglin know his secret is safe with him. Birds of a feather and all that. Kraglin ignores him in favor of concentrating on his work. He has another late-night meeting with the captain to look forward to, and nothing is going to ruin his mood.

Later that evening, Yondu rolls off Kraglin, spent and exhausted. Kraglin idly draws a finger through Yondu’s tacky cum drying on his stomach, sticking the hairs of his belly together.

“Hrax sure had a lot of brats runnin’ ‘round, last I saw.” Yondu observes, facing the ceiling, arm behind his head. He yawns a bit and scratches his nose with a sharp claw.

“Hrm? Yeah, us Hraxians breed like no other. Why ya think I was in such a rush to git away?” That’s unusual. Cap’n hasn’t told him to leave yet, not that Kraglin is complaining. Sometimes, it’s nice to bask in the warm post-orgasmic cloud for a little while. It’s not often that Cap’n actually talks to him about something other than scheduling their next tryst.

“Ever have any kids yerself, Obfonteri?” Yondu asks, like small talk of this sort is a usual thing for them. Kraglin is immediately suspicious. They never talk about their pasts with each other. It’s an unspoken code. The past and future don’t matter when they are fucking in the present. Why is Cap’n trying to get to know him, like this is anything more than scratching an itch for the both of them?

“Naw. Kind of hard to have kids when you ain’t interested in biologically-compatible people,” Kraglin answers warily. Him? A father? He can’t even imagine what kind of fucked-up spawn he’d end up with if that ever happened. The kid would probably end up murdering Kraglin to sell his hide as leather upholstery.

“Right, I suppose so.” Yondu is silent for a minute, then, “Ya spent a lot of time with kids on Hrax, though. Yer good with ‘em?”

Kraglin notices a very specific pattern with this line of questioning, and he does not like it. He sits up, propped on his elbows, and looks at Yondu.

“Ya know I’m a man, right? I can’t have yer kids if that’s where this is goin’.”

“What? Hell NO, idjit. Why would I–? Fuckin’ hell… It’s Mo. I need someone t’ watch him. Someone that won’t git frustrated and send ‘im out the airlock when he gits annoying. I would have spaced ‘im myself if his daddy wasn’t payin’ us so much t’ deliver the brat.” Cap’n says with conviction. He rolls onto his stomach to face Kraglin.

_Riiiight._ Kraglin remembers the first time they met, Cap’n spared him because of his baby face. Still… babysitting duty did not appeal to him in the slightest. Wasn’t there someone else? Anyone else? He knew he was crew, and Yondu was captain. However, alone like this in the Captain’s quarters, they were more or less equals. Kraglin wants to refuse, but he opts to go the safe route.

“That an order, sir?”

“Make sure he gits through the next couple weeks in one piece.”

“Is that an order?”

“Can ya do it?”

Kraglin really wants to say no, but Yondu is naked right now. Kraglin stares at that plump ass, sweaty and dripping with lube and his milky cum. It’s just not fair, and looking over at the smug expression on his face, the blue bastard knows it, too.

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

“Whatchu doing?” Mo has asked for probably the twelfth time in as many minutes.

“Tightening a bolt,” Kraglin answers. He’s supposed to be watching him, but he can’t very well neglect his work. Unfortunately, the kid has proven to be a flight risk, so Kraglin has resorted to handcuffing him to his work kit. Naz had raised his eyebrows at that, but Kraglin’s face did not invite comment.

The boy is quiet for a minute, then, “Can you take me home?”

“We’ve already been over this. No. Don’tchu want’a meet yer daddy?” Kraglin asks. Kraglin considers the M-ship in front of him. Hm… he may have to get a new part for this job. Maybe upgrade it so it won’t have to be fixed every time it goes out.

“I don’t have no daddy. And it’s boring here, and you’re boring! I just want to go home!” Mo starts tearing up.

_Oh hell…_

“Ain’t happenin’, Kid.” Kraglin is made of steel, and steel does not rust when exposed to water. Still, the sound of crying children is very grating to most people, and Kraglin can’t afford to distract and anger all his coworkers in such a delicate operation as M-ship maintenance. That could lead to mass death via shoddy repair and system failure at jump points. Perhaps, it was time to employ a different babysitting tactic. Kraglin considers Mo and formulates an idea. If Kraglin knows one thing about children, it’s that people tend to underestimate them.

Cap’n may have manipulated Kraglin into watching the brat, but Kraglin is going to do this his way.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, Kid, just like I showed ya.” Kraglin eggs on Mo, who edges towards Gef. The man is red and tipsy with drink, an easy mark.

Mo bumps into him.

“Hey, watchit, ya lil’ fucker,” Gef slurs. He moves to slap the small Xandarian welp. Kraglin catches his hand before it can connect.

“Hey Gef, hands off the merchandise, ‘member,” Kraglin says smoothly. “’Sides, kid’s still finding his space legs. He didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Ain’t that right, Mo?”

“Sorry, sir!” Mo perks up, big brown eyes full of regret. Kraglin is slightly impressed. The kid’s a quick study.

“Alrigh’ jus’ don’ do it again, boy,” Gef turns and stumbles away.

When he is out of sight, Kraglin faces the kid. “Okay, show me whatchu got.”

Mo holds out a five credit sticks and a button. Kraglin takes four and leaves the kid one plus the button.

“Hey, why do you get most of ‘em? I did all the work,” Mo protests, his little face screwing up into a sour expression. Kraglin is so unfair sometimes.

“Consider it tuition, kid.” Kraglin answers, pocketing his cut.

Mo pouts, but Kraglin simply ruffles his hair. He could get used to this racket.

Later that night, Kraglin escorts Mo to the room adjoining Cap’n’s quarters and locks him inside. He then stops by Cap’n’s room to give him a status report of the day. He doesn’t emerge until a couple hours later.

Two weeks pass quickly, and when Kraglin hands over the kid to Yondu for delivery, he’s a little sad to see him go. He buries it deep though. It wouldn’t do to get attached. Besides, the kid is going to his daddy… a daddy who wants him a lot, by the look of the payout for this job. Kraglin knows the kid will be just fine.

 

* * *

 

“Okay Olly, now you have to jiggle it to the left a bit ‘til ya hear it click an’ it gives a lil’,” Kraglin instructs his next charge, a very small Luphomoid girl.

Olyra holds her head next to the lock, straining to hear the tell-tale click as she wiggles a pin into the keyhole. Her dark pupil-less eyes dart up and to the left, and she sticks her purple tongue out to the right in concentration. Finally, it clicks loose and opens.

“And there ya go. Easy, right?” Kraglin congratulates her. He discards the lock, pops open the door, and rifles through the contents, pulling out Half-Nut’s secret stash of sweet ration bars.

“Here’s your cut.” Kraglin tosses one to Olyra while keeping five for himself.

“Hey! You got so many more!” she complains. She’s too young to count very high, but she’s old enough to spot the difference between five and one.

“I’m the boss, kid. I plan the heists and you execute, so I get a bigger cut of the profits,” Kraglin explains matter-of-factly. When he was with the Lost Boys, he never complained about his cut. Kids these days, they have no respect.

Olyra knows when something isn’t fair, but she’s too small to effectively argue using words. She reverts to emotional manipulation. She looks at him, her black eyes wide and slightly watery. _Oh hell,_ Kraglin thinks. He quickly weighs his options. He could stand firm against a child who is essentially little older than a toddler, she’ll cry and alert the entire ship to their game, and probably make him an enemy of Half-Nut for as long as the man can hold a grudge (which is far longer than the time Olyra will be on the ship)… or Kraglin can give in a little to keep the peace.

He tosses her another bar.

“Okay fine, here ya go, but yer really twistin’ my arm on this one.”

Olyra breaks into a big, gap-toothed smile. “Thanks, Kraggle.”

Noting her seamless transformation from sad to happy, Kraglin supposes she earned the extra bar for negotiation prowess.

Another week passes, and she follows Mobius to meet her father.

 

* * *

 

Hylkario is much older than Olyra and has a better grasp of numbers, so Kraglin teaches him to count cards.

There isn’t enough time for him to be very good, but with practice, Kio could probably win back anything that Mo and Olly steal from him once he gets to Ego’s planet.

 

* * *

 

Davi has four arms and quick fingers. Perfect for a good scheme of three-card Monty. Before he leaves, Davi amasses quite a stash from duping some of the more-gullible rookies on board the Eclector. They grumble, but any complaints or amorphous plans of vengeance evaporate when they spot Kraglin’s crossed arms and stony face glaring daggers right at them from behind the child.

Kraglin allows Davi to keep 20% of the profits. He’s not nearly as good of a negotiator as Olly had been.

 

* * *

 

Qo is from a race of terrestrial hermaphroditic squid people. Coming from a binary culture, Kraglin is initially confused as to whether zie is a boy or girl. Zir suckered tentacles stick to Kraglin’s arms when Yondu first hands zim off. Qo’s mother had always stressed the importance of holding hands so zie won’t get lost. It hadn’t helped when Qo got snatched instead.

Kraglin looks into Qo’s six eyes on that cute little gelatinous face and decides the tyke would be good at lifting things off carts and the like. He teaches zim to spot good marks, people who are distracted or easily distractible and aren’t really paying attention to their things. He shows Qo how to approach and slip zir tentacles over desired merchandise to pocket it.

Kraglin is almost proud when Qo steals Vorker’s eye one shift when the other Ravager is sleeping. Qo just thinks it’s a pretty marble, and zie rolls it across the floor, picking up lint and rust along the way. The next time Vorker wears it, he complains of pink eye. Cap’n had laughed at that one alongside Kraglin when he told him later that night. Cap’n’s laugh is a hoarse deep sound that reverberates from Cap’n’s chest to Kraglin’s own underneath. Kraglin wonders why more people don’t sound like that.

Although he hides it well, Cap’n is always a touch soft on these kids in little ways. Kraglin is not too sure, but he supposes that perhaps Cap’n wants them to maintain a little softness themselves. That’s sweet and all, but Kraglin knows what children can do given his upbringing, and he believes they should be handled like capable individuals. Still, when he notices Qo playing with a trinket zie supposedly stole from Cap’n’s quarters without Cap’n noticing, it does something funny to his stomach. Kraglin chalks up to Cook’s questionable meals despite the fact that Hraxians are nearly impervious to gastrointestinal issues of that sort.

Kraglin thinks of all the things he taught Mo, Olly, Kio, Davi, and Qo. He imagines them cheating and snatching their possessions among themselves, always striving to be better than their other siblings to protect what’s theirs. Who knows, maybe they’ll trade and pool skills like he and Gaelan did back on Hrax, teaming up to trick their Daddy. Kraglin has never met Ego, but from the little that Yondu tells him, the man is an uptight jackass. It might do him some good for those children of his to knock him down a peg or two.

Meanwhile, Kraglin has a place to sleep, enough to eat, and blue skin to explore when Cap’n is feeling up to it, which happens more often as time passes.

Shame it doesn’t last.


	4. Hooked on a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin and Yondu have a falling out, and Kraglin accidentally-on-purpose mentally scars a child.

The occasional late-night meeting between Kraglin and Yondu becomes more consistent, and before they know it, it’s a regular thing that stretches on for the better part of a year.

Mostly, they rut hard and desperate against each other with Cap’n pinning him down and riding his cock to the knot or Kraglin (with express permission) dominating Yondu. Occasionally, they switch things up, but Kraglin knows how Cap’n likes it. He doesn’t mind. He likes their sex rough, but sometimes he thinks he prefers it slow with something approaching tenderness.

It’s after one of these times when he’s heady with a soft fuzzy post-coital afterglow that he has a sudden deep desire to do _something_ to Yondu.

Everything goes horribly wrong.

Afterwards, Kraglin can’t say why he did it. One moment, he’s panting hot and heavy into Yondu’s shoulder as he goes slack from his orgasm, and the next, he’s sinking sharp teeth into thick corded blue muscle. It’s instinctual for Hraxians to mark their close bedfellows, but Yondu and he are far from having that sort of relationship. Yeah, they fuck pretty consistently, but they’re barely friendly most of the time. Kraglin quickly disengages, but the damage is already done.

“Git the fuck out, asshole!” Yondu clasps the plane of his bleeding shoulder as he kicks Kraglin in the stomach. Kraglin tumbles off the bed, and he barely has time to catch his breath when he sees Yondu purse his lips in terrifying fashion. Though he is fairly confident Cap’n won’t actually kill him, Yondu is not above a little maiming. Kraglin quickly uncurls to a standing position and scrambles to pull up his pants and grab his shirt and boots before Cap’n forgets how much he likes his cock and whistles him through anyway. He pauses just outside the door, waiting for what, he doesn’t know. He turns to look back at Yondu.

“ _This_ scars, and this thing we doin’? It’s done,” Yondu hisses low from the bed. The door almost slides shut on Kraglin’s beaky nose.

 

* * *

 

It scars.

Kraglin can’t see it through Yondu’s leathers, but he also hasn’t had an opportunity to check underneath, either, which is a sign in and of itself. He’s not too sure why Cap’n is even so upset. Gaelan and he had left their marks on each other over the course of their brotherhood, and it’s not like Cap’n himself is unblemished and simply vain about his smooth skin. Cap’n is a fighter with the scars to prove it (and then some) checkering the entire expanse of his blue skin. Kraglin supposes it’s the sentiment behind the action. Sure, it was a momentary slip, an admission that maybe, _just maybe_ , he felt a smidge affectionate towards Cap’n, but his possible feelings are so insignificantly small, infinitesimal really, not worth mentioning. He knows how Cap’n feels about sentiment, but did it really warrant this?

Cap’n turns cold to him. He cancels their late night meetings. In fact, he doesn’t look at him much at all anymore. If he is forced to acknowledge Kraglin, he reverts to addressing him with a curt impersonal “Obfonteri.” Worse yet, Cap’n has been scheduling late night meetings with Bastion, a junior navigator on Bridge crew, not that Kraglin has been checking… much. The other man was friendly enough in a cold way, but he rarely talked to anyone not on Bridge crew, as if he was too good for the rest of them. It hadn’t bothered Kraglin before, but now it grates against his sensibilities. That pompous ass. Kraglin wonders if Cap’n allows Bastion to gag him, hold him down in a cage of limbs, and have him squirming below him as he rams his cock crudely into his hole. It had taken them quite a while to work up to that little fantasy, and even then, it didn’t happen often. Did Cap’n _trust_ the other man to do that with him… as much as he had trusted Kraglin?

“Obfonteri.” The name is said short and even, strictly professional.

Kraglin looks up as Cap’n pushes yet another retrieved child forward.

“Shiiri,” Yondu introduces her. She’s a delicate little thing, bright pink with dark wavy hair cut short to her chin and green watery eyes. Krylorian by the look of it, or rather half Krylorian.

“Keep ‘er busy ‘til we deliver her to her daddy.” He turns on his heel and walks out, not even staying to hear Kraglin’s affirmative answer.

“Yes, Cap’n,” Kraglin replies to Yondu’s retreating back. Cap’n may be pissed at him. Their _thing_ may be over, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to shirk his duties. After all, Kraglin is nothing if not professional.

Kraglin smiles at the girl, remembering to keep his lips covering his pointed teeth. Non-Hraxian brats always shied away when he smiled full. He bends down to Shiiri’s level, raising his chin up to look her straight in the eye, and musters what he considers his best, least-threatening voice.

“Hey kid, ya like knives?”

Shiiri looks uncertain and a touch fearful as she shakes her head no. _Huh._ Kraglin wonders why she’s looking at him like that, as if he is a predator. He runs his tongue between his lips and teeth. Nope, they’re still covered. Observing him warily, Shiiri shrinks even further from him at that motion.

“Wanna learn?”

Later that day, Tullk barges in on Cap’n’s verbal stripping of a recruit who had failed to properly clean a square of floor. Cap’n must be in a dark mood to micromanage such an insignificant task on a ship so large and dirty, but Tullk can’t wait for him to cool down. He hurriedly beats his chest twice in respect and addresses Yondu.

“Hate to interrupt, sir, but it’s the cargo. She shanked Bastion.”

 

* * *

 

Kraglin tries (and fails) to comfort a bawling Shiiri in one of the common rooms. Her tiny arms are wrapped around his waist and her pink face is buried in his stomach, wetting the leathers there. Kraglin’s arms are raised shoulder-high as if he’s trying to avoid contact with the girl as much as possible given her current position plastered to his front. His expression is only moderately panicked. He had not thought through the repercussions of this particular tract of babysitting. The Lost Boys of Hrax, which had actually included a fair number of girls, hadn’t gotten quite so wet around the eyes when they stabbed someone, accidentally or otherwise. Who would have anticipated that Shiiri, or any child really, would be so soft? Certainly not Kraglin.

“Don’t cry like that, kid. Weren’t yer fault.” He awkwardly pats her back. How long is she going to be like this? The knife couldn’t have pierced the other man more than a couple inches or so, and Shiiri was short and the knife thrown low, so it hadn’t hit anything _vital_. Well, nothing required for living, that is.

“Bastion will be right as rain soon enough. You didn’ kill nobody.” Kraglin continues. She’s awfully leaky. Exactly how much liquid can be contained in a body so small? Kraglin entertains a brief ridiculous thought of Shiiri shriveling to a wizened old woman from dehydration right before his eyes.

“She didn’ kill nobody, but I might,” Yondu says from behind Kraglin, who pivots at his neck to look at his Cap’n over his shoulder. Yondu holds Kraglin’s gaze while he roughly peels the small weepy child from his torso by her shoulder and leads her away.

“You! Follow me!” He barks back at Kraglin. Yondu is in a whistling mood, but he doesn’t want to traumatize the kid even further. Ego probably would not appreciate the extra PTSD.

After Yondu secures a crying Shiiri in his quarters with a bag of trinkets with which to play and an explicit order to stop her bellyaching, he confronts her babysitter.

“Obfonteri! I ordered ya to keep the kid outta trouble. You disobeyin’ my orders or are ya just incompetent?” He gives Kraglin a hard shove on the shoulder to emphasize his point.

“With all due respect, sir, you ordered me ta keep ‘er busy. I was jus’ teachin’ her self-defense. Small pretty girl like that on a ship full o’ Ravagers? Can’t be too careful.” Kraglin replies breezily.

“Incompetent then. Can’t even keep track of one brat, and now Bastion is holed up in med bay and we’re down a navigator.” Yondu closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows Kraglin is smarter than this, which leaves only one explanation…

“Couldn’t have been much of a navigator if he can’t even navigate his-self out of range of one brat. She was practicin’ throwin’, and he walked right into her knife.” Kraglin says innocently, but a touch of venom leeches into his voice nonetheless.

Yondu narrows his eyes. “You think I’m stupid, boy? Ya think I don’t know what this is about,” He asks. He drops his voice, barely audible and dangerous, “Look Obfonteri, we weren’t nothin’. We had ourselves a bit o’ fun, but it’s over. It’s high past time ya move on.”

“You think I can just forget it like that?” Kraglin asks, matching Yondu’s low volume. He knows they weren’t together, not really, but he is convinced they were more than what Cap’n is now claiming. He moves to put a hand on Yondu’s elbow. Yondu snarls and slaps it away just as he makes contact.

“Why not? I already have.”

_Of course._ Kraglin thinks.

“Now either do the same or we leave ya at next port, if I don’t whistle ya through first. Do I make myself clear?”

”Yes, sir,” Kraglin replies, but _fuck you_ is what he means.

Two weeks later, Kraglin escorts Shiiri to the docks for her final departure to Ego’s planet via Yondu’s M-ship. She never did touch his knives again, but Kraglin taught her the basics of how to pickpocket instead. She’s not too good at it, so when Kraglin sees her slip her hand into Cap’n’s pocket to covertly fish out a plastic trinket, he knows that Yondu is just humoring her.

That won’t do. He lightly bats her on the shoulder and mouths “Too obvious” when she looks up. If she doesn’t learn from her mistakes, she’ll never get any better. Of course, Kraglin knows she won’t need any of the skills he taught her to survive; Ego will see to all her needs, but all her siblings know the rudimentary basics of petty thievery. She needs to keep up if she wants to keep her share of the toys.

“C’mon, girl. We need’a get goin’. Yer daddy an’ all yer brothers and sisters are waitin’,” Yondu leads her towards the ship. She looks back at Kraglin, snakes around Yondu’s grasp, and throws her arms around Kraglin’s waist in a big hug, the first one since she almost castrated Bastion. Kraglin lets her hold on for a generous five seconds before wriggling away.

“Okay, okay, kid. Tha’s enough. It’s been fun, but ya gotta go now.”

Shiiri follows Yondu into his M-ship. No tears. _Good girl_ , Kraglin thinks.

When they leave, Kraglin doesn’t so much as look through the port windows at the departing M-ship. Shiiri is going to a loving home to be with a father who would pay just about anything to have her and all her siblings back. That’s way better than anything he ever had. And though he doesn’t really know much of Yondu’s past, he suspects it’s probably way better than anything Yondu has had either. No one comes out of a loving home with those scars and that attitude.

Kraglin doesn’t like to admit it, but this kind of work, reuniting families, it feels clean and kind of good. He is far from a good man, never claimed to be one, but he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sorely tempted to write “He walked into her knife. He walked into her knife eight times.” But seriously, Kraglin is the worst ex-boyfriend. Not saying Yondu would be much better had Kraglin been the one to end it. 
> 
> Also, Shiiri and all those kids went to live on a farm upstate where they can run and play in the sun all day with everyone’s childhood dogs.
> 
> Too soon?


	5. Fooled Around and Fell in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu is cast out of the 99 Ravager clans and forcibly adopts a Terran despite Kraglin’s insistence that he has permanently retired from babysitting. It does not go well. 
> 
> Yondu and Kraglin finally reach a mutual understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is attempted child sexual assault in this chapter.

Mobius, Olyra, Hylkario, Davi, Qo, Shiiri

Stakar hadn’t known their names, but he did know their ultimate fate and the identity of those who aided in their deaths. It was enough to exile Captain Yondu Udonta and the crew of the Eclector from the 99 Ravager clans. Kraglin hadn’t been there for the tribunal, hadn’t seen how Yondu tried to explain he didn’t know and that he was only trying to deliver children to their rightful father, but he did witness the aftermath. The day the verdict came down, Cap’n had been in a foul mood, barking like a rabid bulldog at any unfortunate crew who happened to cross his path for the smallest infractions. Cap’n was putting on a strong façade like he was the biggest predator in the entire galaxy, but it did nothing to help morale nor assure the crew that staying on the Eclector was the smart option.

The desertions started small. A couple rookies, ones who wouldn’t really be missed, disappeared first, followed by some of the mechanics, including Kraglin’s old mentor. Finally, the first mate left, or rather was murdered by Cap’n upon being caught trying to go AWOL. That seemed to open the floodgates. When all was said and done, the Eclector was missing a third of her crew and those remaining had to pick up an extra shift to cover the slack.

With his supervisor’s departure, Kraglin had been promoted to head mechanic, and with the change in title came the responsibility to personally maintain Yondu’s M-ship. Cap’n wasn’t the best pilot and had banged her up good on his last outing. If Kraglin didn’t know better, he would think the man might have had a secret death wish based on the recklessness of that assignment and the resulting heavy damage to the old girl.

Kraglin is working on the delicate wiring inside one of the lower panels when he feels a light kick to his leg.

“You still here, Obfonteri?” Yondu is mildly surprised to find Kraglin under his M-ship, though he hides it well.

“Yes, sir,” Kraglin says, ducking out from under the ship and drawing himself up to his full height to address his captain.

“Thought you’d be halfway to Knowhere by now. They always need good mechanics.” Cap’n looks suspicious, like Kraglin has a sinister ulterior motive to his continued presence on board the Eclector, which is understandable given their recent history.

“I’m stayin’, Cap’n,” Kraglin thumps his fist twice against his chest. Yondu seems to accept his answer, or perhaps he doesn’t really care whether Kraglin is actively plotting his death via sudden depressurization on his next mission. It’s a sobering possibility Kraglin refuses to contemplate.

When Yondu answers Ego’s next call and accepts the ensuing job, Kraglin can’t say he’s not disappointed, but Cap’n doesn’t have many alternatives; none of them do. The payout for this Quill kid is higher than the others, and exiled from the 99 Ravager clans with most potential jobs drying up, Cap’n is going to need every red cent.  Kraglin understands, really he does. He himself has no choice but to follow Yondu. He told Cap’n he would stay, and he meant it. Still –

They pick up little Peter Quill from some backwater planet so primitive, they don’t have implanted translators. He’s small and noisy and miserable. He cries for his dead mother and guards an annoying music box with his life. All that would be tolerable, if not a little irritating, but there’s something about him that just pisses Kraglin off. When the boy looks at him with slightly less fear than his less-Terran-looking compatriots, Kraglin sees it. Little Petey has Shiiri’s eyes.

When Kraglin manages to get a private word with the Cap’n, a task made easier by the spate of recent desertions, he’s incensed and feeling particularly stabby. He knows what he has to say is potentially suicidal, but –

“Cap’n, I can’t believe you. I stood by ya, and this is whatchu do… What about Mo? What about Olly and Shiiri? All of ‘em. Ego. He killed all them kids…”

“We ain’t deliverin’ this one,” Yondu replies simply.

“What?” Did Kraglin just have a minor stroke from sheer rage, or did he just hear…?

“Ya heard me. This one’s mine. Now, stand down, idjit.” Yondu’s tone is firm and discourages argument.

“…Why?”

Yondu explodes at him then: “I’m yer Cap’n. I gave ya an order, Obfonteri, and I expect ya ta follow it. No explanation needed. No backtalk. If I say Quill stays, he stays. And his stars-damned jackass of a daddy can go fuck himself.”

Kraglin really wants to know: If Cap’n never intended to deliver the cargo, then why did he accept the job? Why pick up Quill at all? But he knows better than to question Cap’n a second time when he gets into one of these moods. Still… he doesn’t like where this is going. Kraglin crosses his arms.

“I ain’t doin’ it no more, Cap’n. A couple weeks with a brat before we ship ‘em off? Sure. But if yer talkin’ long term, yer on yer own with this one.” He says it steady and quiet-like, so Cap’n knows he’s serious. If Cap’n wants the kid, then fine, but Cap’n is not going to dump him on Kraglin. End of discussion as far as he’s concerned.

Yondu knows he can order Kraglin to do any job he sees fit, and Kraglin (by the grace of misplaced loyalty or something equally misguided) will do it. He may bitch about it in private, but it’ll get done. Yondu knows he can send Kraglin on a suicide mission into Kree space. He can put him on bog duty indefinitely. Similarly, he can force him to watch an entire gaggle of brats if he so chooses… Yet, Yondu just nods in agreement. Quill is his burden, his atonement, so it’s only fitting he do it alone.

That’s great in theory, but being a hard-ass Ravager captain and a single father are not compatible lifestyles.

 

* * *

 

At first, there had been cautious approval when Cap’n announced they were going to postpone delivery, and Quill was going to stay a little longer than anticipated. Cap’n was going to make Ego sweat it out a bit, make him raise his price for completion of the job. After all, it was Ego’s fault they were cast out of the 99 Ravager clans and all their other business had come to a halt. Negotiating from a place of strength and a healthy dose of spite, Cap’n had called it. The crew understood. They too had suffered in the schism.

However, when Cap’n announced they were keeping the boy even after Ego promised to meet the new higher price because _fuck that jackass_ , wary support had turned into slightly-mutinous grumblings. _Cap’n’s going soft_ , they had whispered, right before Cap’n whistled an arrow through them. After the tenth dead crewmember, Yondu made a show of not caring about the boy. He’d beat him around the ears, threaten him with the stewpot, and mercilessly squash any of Quill’s attempts to garner comfort or sympathy from the brash captain until Quill was just as afraid of him as any rookie. Still, no one dared touch the boy. As long as Cap’n is around, Quill was more-or-less safe.

Unfortunately, Cap’n can’t stay on the Eclector forever. He has deals to negotiate, jobs to complete, and credits to earn. It’s during one of these short absences that Kraglin stumbles across Quill caught in a rather unsavory situation.

Kraglin hears uneven footfalls and frantic whispering near one of the M-ships that has been partially disassembled for upgrades. He’s curious. No one is supposed to be back there. When he discovers the source of the noise, he finds Naz and another mechanic, dragging a crying Pete by his arms into the cargo hold of the ship. The boy strains against his captors, but he’s much too small and much too weak.

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere?” Kraglin marches up to them and places a firm hand on Pete’s shoulder, stopping their forward progress. The other mechanic lets go, but Naz holds on. Kraglin should have gutted that fucker months ago.

“Just havin’ ourselves a lil’ fun with the new recruit,” He says casually. “Want in?”

Kraglin is silent at first. He takes in Pete’s disheveled appearance, watery eyes, and the look of sheer terror on his tear-streaked face. The child has no idea if Kraglin is friend or foe, but he’s begging him for help in a silent way that Kraglin recognizes from long ago, back when Kraglin was small and scared and some other kid had gotten on the wrong side of one of the bosses. If it wasn’t him or Gaelan, it was none of his business. He had kept his head down then and just thanked his lucky stars they passed unscathed.

He’s not that small boy anymore.

“We don’t damage cargo,” Kraglin says in an even tone that belies his rising fury.

“Kid ain’t cargo no more.” Naz is still touching the boy. It’s only on the arm, but Kraglin wants to slice each finger off individually while Naz watches, then choke them raw down his gullet.

“Cap’n won’t like it.” Kraglin’s fingers itch for the knife tucked in his sleeve.

“Cap’n won’t care. Besides, he ain’t here.” Naz pulls Pete a little closer.

“ _I_ don’t like it.”

“Well, whatchu goin’ to do abo–”

Kraglin doesn’t hesitate. His knife slides into his fist as he takes an arcing swipe just underneath that smug face, slicing the soft flesh of Naz’s throat. Naz let’s go of Pete as he grasps the wound, trying to staunch the gushing fountain of blood. Red rivulets seep through the spaces between his fingers as he drops to his knees. Kraglin pulls the stunned Pete behind him while simultaneously burying the same knife into the other mechanic’s soft temple and twisting, crumpling him to the floor. He puts his boot on the side of the dead man’s head to pull out his knife, freeing it with a sickly squelch.

Kraglin has never been very good fighting impaired or in open spaces, but in close quarters such as this with surprise on his side, he is deadly. Covered in arterial spray, Pete is sheet-white, glassy-eyed, and softly babbling. Kraglin briefly wonders if this is the first murder he’s seen. He supposes there’s a first time for everything, and the kid best get used to it now that he’s here to stay. Still–

“Hey, you okay, Petey?” He asks the boy. There is no coherent response.

“Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He picks Pete off the ground and places him on his feet with uncharacteristic gentleness, turning to lead him out of the M-ship towards the bogs, where Kraglin hands Pete a wet towel to wipe off. They leave Naz to bleed out on the floor, choking on his own blood.

Two days later, Pete still hasn’t left Kraglin’s side. Yondu finds them in evening mess hall, having been informed of the situation by Tullk.

“Take ‘im to his room, Obfonteri. Then, stop by my quarters for debriefin’,” Yondu says, with a sort of gruff fondness and stare approaching a leer.

Kraglin recognizes that look.

 

* * *

 

“I’m not lookin’ after the brat,” Kraglin wants to make that crystal clear before they go any further.

“Don’t expect ya to,” Yondu says. The door of his private quarters slides shut.

“Naz was just pissin’ me off is all.”

“I know.” Yondu removes his coat, and tosses it on the chair.

“I didn’ do it so you’d take me back,” Kraglin clarifies yet again, but he unbuckles his shirt just the same.

Yondu screws up his face as if insulted by the insinuation.

“This ain’t no reward,” He spits out, closing the space between them. “Now shuddup, idjit.”

Kraglin listens. Then, there are no more words for a while.

They lie in bed afterward, silent. Yondu lazily circles one of Kraglin’s tattoos lightly with a chipped claw. It’s… nice, which is rare for them. Kraglin savors moments like this, in the quiet spaces before one of them inevitably says or does something to ruin it.

“Don’t know why ya choose t’have all them markin’s on ya, boy,” Yondu observes idly. The way he says it, he’s not really expecting an answer.

Kraglin sits up and points to the third swirl on his collar bone, the one Yondu had been touching. “This one right ‘ere, we stole a Nova craft and made it to the surface of Hrax. First time I ever saw our sun.” It had been large and bright and hazy against a polluted sky, but it was the first time Kraglin had conceptualized that there was something beyond the pits. Gaelan had offered him a huffer cig as they watched the red-orange sunset behind protective plexiglass, and they had smoked in silence.

Something clicks in Yondu’s mind as he stares at that tattoo. He rolls on his side facing away from Kraglin and taps a circular light blue patch of raised smooth skin knitted too tight on his lower back.

Yondu understands, but he needs Kraglin to understand something as well. To Kraglin, the markings meant belonging and history, but to him, they meant – 

“Aurilio clan slave brand, age 7-12. Had it burned off,” He says flatly.

_Ownership_.

Kraglin is at a loss for words, so Yondu looks over his shoulder directly at him.

“Ain’t nobody own me, Kraglin, least of all you.”

 

* * *

 

Kraglin never says he’s sorry, and Yondu never says he cares, but sometimes, Kraglin brushes hand against scar or Yondu traces the dark lines of a tattoo. It’s a silent question, and they speak low and soft in the dead of night.

“Backtalk. Five lashes.”

“First Major Heist. Flengoffan diamond.”

“Calixa’s spear in the ring. Shame I had to kill her.”

They trade secrets, mapping their intimacies with fingers slipping on marked skin and whispers in the dark.

“Left the Lost Boys.”

“Tahlei.”

“Gaelan.”

Kraglin almost doesn’t want to know, but he lightly caresses healed twin half-crescents on Yondu’s shoulder just the same, following the divots of tooth marks. Yondu is silent, then –

“Home.”

It is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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